


The Adventure Of The Retired Captain

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [45]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Jewelry, Lighthouses, M/M, Prophecy, References to Titanic, Slow Burn, Theft, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, essex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 09:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15312849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A seemingly chance encounter saves a man's life - for now. And Watson risks being stuck on an island at precisely the wrong time.





	The Adventure Of The Retired Captain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FanficCornerWriter19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficCornerWriter19/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

Several of my brother Sherlock's cases involved a race against time for one reason or another. This, the next of the 'new' cases that he would tackle in that busy year of 'Eighty-Nine, had a rather different reason for the undue haste – it took place just before the first anniversary of Doctor Watson's marriage to Miss Mary Morstan, an event that my brother nearly made the good doctor miss!

Watson's sole mention of this case prompted a number of letters from 'Sherlockians' who questioned him about a case involving a tired captain. Puzzled, he checked the _”Strand”_ magazine and was most annoyed to find that the editor had mis-read his original reference to the main character in this story as being 'retired'. I myself am quite tired as I write this, because last night someone was wearing that Thong again and I was so..... oh Lord, he has just lowered his belt and is still wearing it! Excuse me......

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

Holmes and I were called in on a whole number of cases where our client or someone related to them was convinced that whatever was happening to them had a preternatural explanation, and in most cases it turned out to be not the case. Most. In this case, a gentleman's life was saved by his heeding the advice of a seer. 

Mr. Bulstrode Amadeus St. George Winteringham Falconbridge was announced by Mrs. Hudson (with a commendably straight face considering that his full name was on his calling-card!) at 221B that day, shortly before I was due to mark the first anniversary of my wedding. Mr. Falconbridge was a small, rather nervous-looking fellow in his early sixties, grey-haired and almost cadaverous in his appearance. When he finally took a fireside chair he just sat and stared at us for a few moments. Though I suppose in some ways that was better than the alternative; I privately thought that some of our clients needed their lips sewing together!

“How may we be of service, sir?” Holmes prompted. 

The man jumped at his voice, and I wondered if I might need the decanter rather than the kettle. Finally however he seemed to make an effort to pull himself together.

“My name, sirs, is Mr. Bulstrode Falconbridge. I live a quiet and withdrawn life on Futility Island, a small place off the coast of Essex. Every month I come to London for a week’s work as a gem-cutter. It is a trade I took up some ten years past, when I retired from working as a captain after an accident that left me with the limp that, as you see, I still have. It turned out that I am possessed of a talent for dealing with the larger and more difficult gemstones, so my services are often in demand.”

“All that travelling must be somewhat expensive”, I observed. He smiled.

“It fetches me off the island”, he said, “which is good for me, and I get paid extremely well for my efforts. You should understand that a tiny mistake in my line of work could cost thousands of pounds to the gem owner. So, to the crux of my story. Last week I took the boat to Mersea as usual – I have to plan my journey carefully because that town itself is on a tidal island - and from there I took a cab to catch my train at Colchester. I travelled to London as was my usual custom and everything seemed normal. Until that was I reached my workplace.”

He paused for breath.

“I do my work at 'Carborundum' which is a private cutting firm in Shoreditch, paying them a rent for the use of their rooms”, he went on. “I will not bore you with the science of my craft, but my specialized trade mostly entails using only a few small instruments which I carry with me. A diamond-cutter always uses his own tools; to do otherwise would be unthinkable!”

“On this particular day there was a gentleman visiting the company, a young fellow called Mr. William Torrin originally from the United States. The other workers there called him a 'half-caste', though I do not like that phrase. His company had purchased a large consignment of diamonds from Kenya and they were being shipped through London, his job being to evaluate them and telegraph a report to his employers. It was only later, from an overheard conversation at the warehouse, that I learnt he was in fact taking the largest single stone over himself; he had checked the consignment when the ship had docked two days earlier, and that one gemstone was worth considerably more than all the others put together.”

“I do not think much of a workplace there they allow such information to be bruted about”, I remarked.

“It struck me as somewhat untoward, too”, our guest said, “though perhaps later in my tale you will see why his employers placed such trust in him. He was a quiet man, very young – although at my age everyone seems young – and not the sort of person whom one would have much noticed, so it struck me as odd that even after our brief introduction I continued to observe him. He was doing some polishing work on lesser stones for the firm whilst he waited for his ship, which was due to leave Liverpool that Friday.”

“The rest of that day passed quietly enough as did the next three days. It is my usual custom to return directly to my island home after a week away but this time I had arranged to call on a friend in Chelmsford and to spend some time with them, so I planned my departure for Friday morning. I went into the company to say my farewells and sign off the inevitable paperwork, and on leaving was surprised to find Mr. Torrin waiting at the door.” 

Our visitor hesitated. 

“I noted that he looked exceedingly nervous”, he said. “He pulled me to one side, and spoke so quietly that I myself was quite unnerved.

_'“You return to the country today, Mr. Falconbridge?” he said._

_I nodded, wondering what this was all about._

_“I know you will consider this a little presumptuous of me, but may I ask by which train you are travelling?”_

_I frankly did not see what business it was of his, but the man was of a similar disposition to myself and perhaps I related to him a little._

_”The ten o’clock from Liverpool Street”, I answered. He seemed to hesitate at that._

_“The eleven o’clock is a much nicer train”, he said. “Good day, sir.”_

“He then hurried away before I could draw breath to reply. I stared after him, nonplussed.”

I suddenly realized what our guest was leading up to.

“The Goodmayes crash!” I exclaimed. Mr. Falconbridge nodded.

“Yes”, he said heavily. “The gentleman’s comments left me confused and I arrived at Liverpool Street Station with only eight minutes in hand. I decided that there was no rush, and rather than hurry through the queue at the ticket-offices I could more easily take a later train and partake of a late breakfast as I was quite hungry. Imagine my reaction when, after only half an hour, I heard an announcement that all trains were being diverted because of a crash to the very train that I myself should have been on. Four people were killed and many more injured. I could have been one of them!”

“So this Mr. Torrin may have saved your life”, Holmes observed. 

“Indeed”, our visitor said. “And that was not the only strange thing to befall me before I attained my beloved island.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

“It was an incident which did not strike me as important at the time”, he said, “but I have heard how you consider sometimes even the smallest things important. My time in Chelmsford passed uneventfully, and on Sunday afternoon I journeyed on to Colchester. I had to wait half an hour there before I could take a cab to Mersea since I knew that the tidal road would still be submerged, so I decided to sit in the waiting-room and eat the sandwich that I had purchased back in Chelmsford. I went to use the facilities first; naturally I kept my precious tools with me but left the bag with the sandwich in it on my table – and when I came out, it had been stolen.”

The Case Of The Missing Sandwich, I thought. Drum-roll if you please!

“Do you ever take stones to the island for cutting?” Holmes asked, looking askance at me for some reason.

“Not in person”, our visitor said. “The risk to myself, especially someone with my lack of physical strength, is far too great. But sometimes a gem-owner will send a stone to me by courier, and arrangements will be made for me to meet with them at Mersea. In that case the courier always stays in the town until I have done the work and they can then collect it.”

“But someone following you home might not know that”, Holmes said. “This is most interesting, sir. Please continue.”

“The following morning, I went for a walk around my island”, he said, “as I had done the evening before. I found what were indisputably bullet-holes in a fence-post along my route. The island is barely a mile from Mersea at that point, so it is possible that someone fired from the island, or took a boat out. Fortunately it was dark when I was out walking, so they must have missed.”

“You did not hear the shots when they were fired?” I asked, surprised.

“There is a shooting-range at the far end of Mersea, beyond the town and close to where it nears my island”, he said. “I sometimes hear them if the wind is in the right direction. The channel currents there are too powerful for anyone to try to swim across. But Mr. Holmes, I am still afraid!”

Holmes pressed his long fingers together in thought, and remained silent for a little while before speaking.

“We must proceed logically”, he said eventually. “I must ask you some direct questions Mr. Falconbridge, and you must be honest in your answers.”

“Of course”, our visitor said, looking even more frightened.

“First”, Holmes said, “the obvious question. _Cui bono?_ Who would benefit from your death?”

“No-one”, the man said firmly. “I am unmarried and the last of my line. The island will go to the local council because my family only holds it whilst the male line survives. And my money, although it is a substantial amount, is to be split between a number of charities. The only exception is two small annuities that my late father left for two of his most faithful servants, which of course I kept up. One of them has since passed but I have arranged to maintain the annuity for the other until they pass on, after which that money too goes to charity.”

Holmes thought for a moment.

“You said that when you left this 'Carborundum', your friend Mr. Torrin was waiting at the door” he said. “Was he actually there when you came to leave, or did he cross the room to intercept you?”

Our guest frowned as he tried to remember.

“No, he was definitely waiting there”, he said. “I remember because I saw his short leather jacket on the coat-stand; quite unsuitable for this country’s climate, I thought. I presumed that he too was leaving as his boat was departing late that evening, but he did not leave before or with me. But I know that he would not had to have left until midday in order to catch his own boat.”

“If my friend is free, we shall definitely accompany you back to Essex, and see this charming island of yours”, Holmes said, much to my surprise. “That is if your light-house can host three bachelors?” 

I was not a little put out by Holmes' assuming my participation in this matter. Not because I did not find it interesting – I did – but it was but two days to my first anniversary, and I had arranged to take Mary to the same restaurant in which I had proposed to her. I had mentioned this to Holmes earlier that day but, as I have so often said, his great brain did not retain information he considered 'unimportant.'

“I would also like to call in at this 'Carborundum' of yours”, Holmes said. “This is a most curious case that you have brought us, Mr. Falconbridge. However….”

He paused.

“However, I feel it only fair to warn you that your life is in some danger. Do you have a gun?”

The man went so pale that I was afraid he might pass out.

“A g-g-gun. sir?” he quavered.

“The doctor and I will both bring ours”, Holmes said reassuringly, pulling open a notepad. “And I must send a telegram before we leave.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

'Carborundum' was as Mr. Falconbridge had said in Shoreditch, and it took some little time to get there. Holmes had on his knowing smile and I knew he was up to something.

“What is it?” I demanded. “You have that look again.”

“We have been working together for too long if you can read me like that, doctor”, Holmes smiled. “I sent a message to Lestrade to make sure that we were not followed by the driver of that hansom parked opposite us in Baker Street whilst we were talking.”

“I am being followed?” That duly set Mr. Falconbridge off into a panic once more.

“Not any more”, Holmes smiled. “Lestrade will meet us at Liverpool Street if he has any news, but I doubt that your pursuer is that careless. I made sure he pulled the man in for questioning _before_ we left, so he will not know that you have succeeded in obtaining our help.”

We arrived safely at the cutting firm which was an ugly monstrosity of a black building, and Holmes went in alone. He emerged just ten minutes later and instructed our driver to head to the station.

“Did you find out what you wanted?” I asked. He nodded.

The firm took on two new staff in the last few months”, he said. “A Mr. Alistair Campbell and a Mr. Duncan MacLeod.”

“Both Scots”, I noted.

“The owner Mr. Ferguson is Scottish”, Mr. Falconbridge put in, “and I am half-Scots through my mother.”

“I hope that Lestrade is on form”, Holmes said, as we sped along. “I rather fear that I am about to make severe demands on the poor fellow.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Inspector Lestrade met us at Liverpool Street Station as planned, and as Holmes had feared he had no news on Mr. Falconbridge’s shadow.

“The cabbie was told to watch for the man here leaving your house, and follow him wherever he went”, he said. “He was told that he would be contacted some time later today for the information, that was all. The man who gave him a crown for that great service was, and I quote, ‘tall, dark and mysterious’.”

“Our London cab-drivers read far too many novels in their spare time”, Holmes said sonorously. “Writers these days!”

It took rather longer than it should have done for me to harrumph in protest at that totally uncalled-for remark. Holmes chuckled and handed over a sheet from his notebook to the policeman.

“I need anything and everything you can dig up on those two”, he said. “I am sorry to do this Lestrade, but I need it in less than two hours. Whatever you have by that time can be sent to the telegraph office at a place called Mersea in Essex, which we shall then be passing through.”

The inspector nodded and took the files before hurrying away. Holmes steered us to the ticket-office and purchased return tickets to Colchester. We were soon safely ensconced on the train and I unfolded my newspaper as it pulled out of the station. We were barely up to speed when I gasped.

“What is it?” 

“Listen to this!” I proclaimed. ‘”There has been a most audacious theft onboard the liner _“Ruritania”_ , sailing between Liverpool and New York. The victim was an American passenger called Mr. William Torrin who, it has since emerged, was transporting what is believed to be the third-largest yellow sapphire in the world. The theft was discovered when the ship docked at Dublin, and it is feared that the thief has made his escape into Ireland.’”

To the surprise of both of us Holmes chuckled.

“I would like to have met this Mr. Torrin”, he said. “Mr. Falconbridge, is this the same coat that you were wearing when you met him?”

“Indeed it is”, the man said. “Is that important?”

“I was only going to say we should place them in the rack”, Holmes said. “It is a warm day for the time of year, and we have at least an hour’s railway journey ahead of us.”

He took both our coats, added his own and hoisted them all into the overhead rack. We sat back whilst I continued to peruse the newspaper article.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We were squashed together in a cab headed down to West Mersea, the sole town on the island of that name, when Holmes posed a question to our client.

“You say that the ferry service is run by a local fisherman”, he said. “How trustworthy is he?”

“Exceedingly so”, Mr. Falconbridge said firmly. “His family have worked for mine for generations.”

“I am thinking about your pursuer”, Holmes explained. “He will either come here, or send someone here. I think that we should be prepared.”

Mr. Falconbridge leant forward. 

“How so?” he asked.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I have to say that I loved Futility Island. It was little more than a hundred yards from end to end, and barely fifty across across, the old light-house springing up from its exact centre, though it was less than half the size of its modern replacement which we could see a mile and a half away near St. Osyth. My only fear was that I would be unable to be back in London in time for my anniversary dinner, but I hoped Holmes would solve the case quickly enough. Or at least forgive my early departure if he could not.

Mr. Falconbridge excused himself immediately on our arrival, saying he had to finish working on a minor gemstone whilst he still had the natural light (his work-room was in a small extension building adjoined to the light-house, with windows on three sides). Holmes bundled me up to our rooms which because of the nature of the building were on different sides of the building. I remember that my friend asked one question at dinner that evening which stuck in my memory for later.

“Apart from your obliging local fisherman, sir, how else might someone gain access to the island?”

Mr. Falconbridge thought for a moment. 

“It is surprisingly difficult”, he said. “You might not think so, bearing in mind that you can see the mainland clearly enough, but you may have noticed that Tom went out some way west of the island before turning back. Although there is a deep channel between us and Mersea, the north of the island is on a wide triangular sandbank. That is why the light-house was built for the bigger ships; they kept grounding themselves on that sandbank.”

I remember that exchange because of what happened precisely two days later.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

That night there was a fierce storm, which made me even more nervous when our host said his fisherman friend had told him the bad weather would last through the following day. Sure enough the heavens remained open and the rain beat fiercely against the lighthouse walls, whilst I fretted and tried to draw up enough courage to broach to Holmes about my urgent need to be back in London by the following evening.

The storm died down over that evening, so I was surprised to emerge the following morning and find a most peculiar sight. About a dozen people were standing at the little harbour, and Tom's fishing boat was tied up there as he talked with Mr. Falconbridge. Two other boats were sat just off the island, clearly awaiting their turn to dock at the tiny jetty.

All became clear when I went round the back of the light-house, to find a large fishing-boat beached on the sandbank just off the eastern side of the island. Holmes came up behind me.

“They went out to sea from Clacton to observe the meteor shower last night”, he said. “The ship's navigator apparently misread the charts and got caught out by the sandbank. Thankfully the seas were calm and they were able to make the island using a life-boat.”

I looked at him suspiciously. He gave me his most innocent look which I did not believe for one moment.

Six of the people on the quayside had by this time squeezed onto Tom's small vessel, which sailed away to be replaced by the first of the two waiting craft. Holmes nudged me, and steered me over to where the remaining six people were waiting impatiently. To my surprise there were already three men seated in the next boat, and despite the lack of uniform one of them was unmistakeably our friend Lestrade, who was first out as the boat docked. Though that was not as surprising as what happened next. One of the men in the waiting line, a pasty-faced middle-aged blond man, looked around nervously then reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

“I know you, Georgie!” he yelled at the approaching figure. “Stay there or you'll never see this again!”

Lestrade just grinned and continued to approach him - I also recognized one of the other men as Constable Goodenough from the same station – and our friend's target clearly realized there was no escape. He stepped back and hurled whatever he was holding as far out to sea as he could, and as it span through the air I recognized it as a gemstone.

“Mr. Falconbridge's work!” I gasped.

Lestrade and his men had the man in handcuffs by this time, despite his worst efforts. Holmes led me up to them and coughed politely.

“Hullo Lestrade. Mr. Alistair Campbell, I presume?”

“I 'aint saying nothin' without a lawyer!” the cuffed man sneered. “I knows my rights!”

“Very advisable, in your case”, Lestrade grinned. “Theft is a serious crime.”

“I don't see no evidence”, the man snapped back. “Unless you plan to dredge the whole damn ocean?”

“Why would we do that to retrieve a fake gemstone?” Holmes smiled. Mr. Campbell stared at him.

“You're lying!” he snapped.

Holmes shook his head and stepped back, before putting his hand into his pocket. When it emerged he was holding a large uncut yellow sapphire, which even it its raw state shone in the morning sun. It was a good thing he had moved as Mr. Campbell lunged after him.

“Now now, Alistair”, Lestrade grinned. “You need to control that temper of yours. Breaking and entering, theft, violence against a member of the public, resisting arrest – some judge is gonna have a field-day with you!”

He and his fellow officers dragged Campbell away to the waiting boat. I turned to my friend.

“Explain!” I demanded.

He quirked an eyebrow at me. I sighed in a put-upon way.

“Please?” I ground out.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“This case was unusual as it hinged around a supposition based on someone that I have never actually met”, Holmes said later. The three of us were sat in the light-room, which was the warmest room in the building during the day. “Mr. William Torrin clearly possesses some psychic abilities and I started with the assumption that he used those to further his own ends.”

“By keeping me alive, you mean”, Mr. Falconbridge said.

“Rather more”, Holmes said. “He knew that an attempt would be made to steal the sapphire in his possession, so before leaving London he arranged to slip it into your pocket when he met you that last day in Carborundum. I have such a coat myself and I know how deep the pockets go.”

“So he knew that I had it?” Mr. Falconbridge asked. Holmes nodded.

“Mr. Campbell does not see Mr. Torrin 'palm' the stone into your pocket”, he said, “but he is playing for high stakes here so he has covered the possibility. One of his agents follows you and later steals the bag you leave on the table, presumably thinking that people leave gemstones in paper bags in railway waiting-rooms all the time. At least he got a sandwich out of it!”

I smiled at that.

“Mr. Campbell himself went on the _“Ruritania”_ with Mr. Torrin, probably with a ticket to Ireland, and stole what turned out to be a fake gem. He returned to London and most probably next searched his workplace, but still found nothing. He reasoned therefore that you must indeed have the gemstone, so he then had to find a way to reach the island. He was exceptionally fortunate that the annual meteor shower was being seen by a boat leaving Clacton, which he purchased a ticket on. I dare say that he bribed the navigator, ensuring that the boat hit the sandbank, and in the confusion that followed it was simple for him to break into the work-room. When we were at Carborundum I obtained a fake uncut stone which I placed there; he dared not use any light as our host sleeps in the next room. And you have seen what followed.”

“So Mr. Torrin should be making contact again soon?” I ventured.

Holmes smiled knowingly.

“He will be returning to London to collect it”, he said. “I shall see him in a few days' time and hand it over.”

Damnation, I thought. I had hoped to be off the island today. He chuckled for some reason.

“You on the other hand will be taking the boat currently waiting for him at the jetty”, he said.

“What?” I exclaimed.

“It might be a difficult journey”, Mr. Falconbridge pointed out. “The road to Mersea will be underwater for the next few hours.”

My heart sank again. 

“It is fortunate then that my friend is not headed that way”, Holmes smiled. “I have arranged for Tom's friend Bill to take him instead to Maldon, where the railway station is close by the harbour. And he will arrive in London in plenty of time for the important event he told me about the other day, and which he was sure I had clean forgotten about.”

I blushed fiercely.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Postscriptum: I had a wonderful dinner with Mary thanks to my friend's perspicacity, and was actually with him when he handed the gemstone over to Mr. William Torrin some days later. I still had some doubts about his 'psychic powers', but he rather efficiently removed them by asking if there was anything either of us wanted him to take to the United States with him, as there were several small and personal items of jewellery of my poor first wife that I had indeed promised to send to her sister over there._   
_In 'Ninety-Eight I received a book in the post with no sender's name, although it had been posted in the United States. The title was _Futility_ and it was the story of how a huge liner described as 'unsinkable', the _“Titan”_ , set sail on its maiden voyage across the Atlantic Ocean with an insufficient number of lifeboats, struck an iceberg and sank to the bottom of the ocean. I am sure I need not remind my gentle readers what happened fourteen years after that....._

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
